Wherever you are is the entry point – Kabir

For d.a.levy


For D.A. Levy…

Speaking in tongues

rattling in lungs

spilling into light,

out of darkness…

Watched Under Milk Wood tonight (Sunday Night) Delightful. Good memories. Nice to go back and think of Dylan Thomas again. ( I have resisted putting his poems up, such an obvious choice.)

I remember sitting with my friend Mike Conners, late, late, late into the night playing Dylan Thomas records in the old flat. We would of course would of been drinking for several hours before Dylan would appear on the record player. Our girl friends would be elsewhere, up to mischief but there we would sit, for hours, mouthing Dylan’s words as they sprang forth from the cheap speakers.

Tonight we tried to get Rowan to sit through it, but he fled, all verse, no prose. Someday soon, I am sure it will be a different story if I am lucky.

Today’s Log is dedicated to D.A. Levy. Wild poet, zine writer, explorer. Zen Buddhist, friends with many poets, writers. Denounced by the powers as a purveyor of obscenity; busted, tried, convicted. Hammered by the state, for his making 89 cents a day…

A couple of links, and finally, his poems.





putting bunny into trance…

rsstroom reader…



Poetry: D.A. Levy

2 love poems


she left in a whisper

without a trace

yet i remember

a last hungry kiss

her golden face


for a rainy day


we tried to save

pressed in books

like flowers from

a sun warmed day


years later to

open yellowing pages

to find those same

kisses – wilted and dry.


Selections From

The Burial Grounds of the Cat Nation

(portrait of a Young Man Trying to Eat the Sun)


A wreath of angels around the eye to OM

opens to no light

no light and the eye opens

to a quiet place of clouds

sun moon mountains water wind

the quiet place is no thought

the quiet place is a wreath of

angels around the eye to AUM opens to ecstasy

i live in the world noise

behind all the world noise is the quiet place

when i look for the quiet place

i sometimes find a pale horse

and ride to the clouds

sun moon mountains water wind

the pale horse disappears

when i am there

i look for the dry atmosphere

and the world ocean


i open the searchlights


when i open the searchlights do i

bring the quiet place here

in the quiet place

roars the ocean water

the ocean is silent

a child calling is answered

with laughter is absolute silence

in the quiet place

are clouds moving

the sound of the sun

the sound of the moon

is absolute silence

in the quiet place

are clouds moving

on the mountains

is the roar of waterfalls

is the snap of a snow covered branch breaking

the explosion of the mountain not moving

is absolute silence

in the quiet place

is the wind whistling

the wind picking me up

is absolute silence

i stop here/not knowing where i can not go – YET

but go into Now


the quiet place is a doorway

that opens to nothing

the return is thought

to stop is HERE I AM

the quiet place is a doorway

that opens to no time

all directions in no time

are like motions of light

[. . . ]


when leaving the body

one goes to the

Lotus of a Thousand Petals

getting there one must cross

his own mountains

everyone gets there


one leaves the body

one may leave the body by leaving

the body he writes ‘EXIT’ on his toe

he writes ‘EXIT’ on his navel

i leave by the crown of thorns

(this is the aperture of Brahma)

this is the Brahmarandhra

this is the way of the Tibetan monk

leaving the body


i tried to leave my body

by breaking down the walls

for seven years

i tried to leave my body

by breaking down the walls

when i found the door

i stuck one foot Out




thousands of birds singing

thousands of teakettles ringing

thousands of radio signals JAMMED on one channel

NOW i know where the door is

i struggle with my fear

each day i throw a spoonful

out the window

when leaving the body

one dies

but how many kinds of death are there?

when leaving the body

one does not look back

when leaving the body

one goes to the

Lotus of a Thousand Petals

getting there one must cross

his own mountains

Everyone gets there



(this is the time of the great light)

if there is a dark time

i will hide the body

in a world place

if waves of darkness sweep the beaches

of the world place seeking to carry

THE LIGHT away like sand

i will carry the light

to the Quiet Place

(this is the time of the great light)


is beyond inquisition


it illuminates the would be executioner


like the wind

moves clouds sun moon mountains water

moves like birds to an internal island

that is found with the eye

one can reach the island by going there

(this is the time of the great light)

the great light carries everything

one finds the great light in dreams

if one carries the great light

from the deep sleep

into the waking dream

one becomes a man

no one sees men

men are hidden by lies

the great men enter the dreams

of others

with the great light

others become great men

the great men move on like

the wind moves

clouds sun moon mountains water

(this is the time of the great light)

the great light is everywhere

one finds the great light

by opening the eye

one opens the eye with love



AFTER the first police putsch

on the cities

information sources


& magician s

UNI*Corpsed from psycho

logical operations

similar to those musically

performed at well known

rest resorts like Dachau &

San Diego/

strange figures.

rose from beneath the

streets of medina marble &


(gave me the first

christmas ive had in years)

new family

of the sun

i feel—-

funny thing

a dark winter night

5 years & finally

the moon is setting on the




/chicago poets

do not understand

my pottery/

after 8 yrs writing

& 4 yrs printing

& being very poor

& being romantic (only enuf to

fill in the nothingness of

being a poet in america)


(spelled peon)

the years disapated

& i havent anything

except sum unbelievable

beautiful friends with

tears in their eyes & i havent anything

to say

my name is myself

the pencil dead in my hand again

how is this connection made?

ink – pencil suddenly sucking

my brain cells dry –

is it that i become

in tune with the

consciousness of the


it is when the

ink starts spurting from

the pen like sperm

& the ecstasy

moves upward

between the eyes


i am beyond

physical matter


i am beyond myself NOW

who is this speaking from

beyond the strings of this


i hiding?

(something from Cleveland)

look there first i say to




& unlike the city


i cannot sweep it under the carpet

& ask the federal govt. for help

i cannot even drive to hunting valley

& watch the policemen deliver news-


next week tho,

when the zipper on my levi’s is fixed

i’ll put on my numbered dungaree shirt

& go to Collinwood

burn incense at Five Points

& buy Kumara’s brother at Norms

that is, if im not arrested

for some serious violation

like enticing a minor

to jaywalk.





sitting on a bench near TSQuare

by d.a.levy

(for David Meltzer)


through the branches of

the thin trees of tenth street

the blue sky waits

with me &

im waiting for god

(on a white horse)

to ride thru the

branches of

the lower east side

before returning to


& something

tells me

he isnt coming


im a levy of the levites

yet in cleveland

i have painted myself


& am feeling

something like an outlaw

the druids give me soup

& think im a lama

its been close to 7 years

ive been looking for god

& the trails wearing as

thin as the trees on tenth street

i am a levy of the levites

& last week

a fanatic jew in the heights

called me a halfbreed

because my mother was a christian

i am a levy of the levites

& last week a rabbi

thought i was kidding

when i told him

i was interested in judaism

god i think yr sense

of humor is sad

& perhaps you are also

feeling something

like an outlaw

god i am wondering

for how many years

have the jews

exiled you

while they busied themselves

with survival


d.a levy (from Wikipedia)

d.a. levy (1942-1968) was a Cleveland, Ohio-based artist, poet and alternative publisher active during the 1960s. d.a. levy was born Darryl Allan Levy on October 29, 1942 to Joseph J. and Carolyn Levy living on Cleveland’s near West side. Toward the end of his high school years and later, during a short stint in the Navy, levy became frustrated with his perceived lack of respect from authority figures and turned to poetry as an outlet for his frustrations. He later found creative outlet in publishing on a small printing press. During this time he also discovered spiritual outlet in Buddhism. levy published his own and other’s works, printed on his hand press or a mimeograph through his Renegade Press and Seven Flowers Press. His poetry and political activities kept him in trouble with the law. In 1966 he was indicted for distributing obscene poetry to minors. He was arrested again in 1967, prompting a benefit reading on May 14, 1967 on the Case Institute of Technology campus which drew such figures as Allen Ginsberg, Tuli Kupferberg and the Fugs. levy committed suicide on November 24, 1968 at the age of 26.

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